


nor had i time to love

by whittler_of_words



Series: Antebellum [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Found Family, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Learning Magic, Magic, Magic-Users, Politics, Selectively Mute Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittler_of_words/pseuds/whittler_of_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of the usual casual clothes she wears to teach, Toriel has her robe on today, the Delta Rune emblazoned on her chest. “There were some last minute things I had to arrange,” she continues, as cheerfully as if it was any other afternoon. “With that said, ah... Today’s lesson will be held <i>outside.</i>”</p><p>“Holy shit.” You bounce a little in your spot. Oh my god. “You’re gonna teach us <i>magic.</i>"<br/>-- </p><p>Chara and Frisk learn magic. (It goes about as well as you'd expect.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CHARA: Empty all your grief.

_Tap tap tap tap taptap tap--_

Frisk glances over at you from where their nose is buried in their notebook, pencil pausing on the page for a moment before they turn back to whatever they’re doing and go back to ignoring you. Or, trying to, at least. The incessant tapping of your fingernails on the wooden table is distracting them a little too much, you think, but you can’t bring yourself to care in the slightest; you are anxious and it is your mission to make sure everyone here knows it.

Which means Frisk.

It doesn’t take half a minute longer for them to give up, placing their book and pencil down on the table in front of them before turning to you. _Is it that weird for her to be late?_

“Toriel,” you say, “is many things. Loving? Yes. Considerate? Also yes. Utterly terrifying? Absolutely.” Frisk looks like they’re biting back a laugh at that, but they don’t disagree, which you figure says enough about the matter. “But _tardiness_ is not one of the qualities that Mrs Dreemurr possesses. The only time I’ve ever seen her be late for class is when I’ve held her up,” you mutter. Glancing up at the clock doesn’t help; nearly eight minutes, now. You haven’t stopped tapping, and you catch Frisk eyeing your hand as if they’re considering grabbing it to make you stop. You bare your teeth at them in a grin as if daring them to try. They scrunch up their face.

_Maybe she’s just busy,_ they suggest. And then, more nervously, _Do you think it’s...?_

They don’t finish. They don’t really have to. Whether they’re referring to the humans, or to the mountain, it really all boils down to the same thing: something bad.

(If you’re being honest, your anxiety had mostly been aimless, stemming from the unexpected break in a previously unshakeable routine, but you latch onto their reasoning nonetheless.)

“We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.” You shrug, hoping it appears more nonchalant than you feel. “Damn if I enjoy having to wait, though.”

Frisk nods in something like agreement. _At least it gives me more time to finish my homework._

“You don’t have to worry so much about that, you know,” you point out, propping your chin on your free hand. “You won’t get punished for not finishing it like you do in human schools.”

They don’t sign anything to that, hands already full with their notebook and pencil again, but the disbelieving look they give you speaks volumes. Which is fair, you guess; you hadn’t believed Toriel at first when she’d told you the same thing, either, figuring she was just pulling your chain, trying to find an excuse to be angry with you eventually. It’d taken a solid week of skimping out on your duties before you realized she wasn’t actually just waiting to pull the rug out from under you.

It’d taken you a lot longer to finally realize it was the same for everything the Dreemurrs did in general. It’s...weird, kind of, to see the same process happening through Frisk, even if they do handle things a bit differently. Like looking through a foggy mirror. You’re not sure you like it.

It’s another full five minutes before the door handle clicks like it does when someone’s trying to open it. You and Frisk only have the time to exchange one glance before it’s opened, and--

“Sorry I’m late, children!” Toriel says, smiling at you from the doorway. You have to blink for a moment in surprise; instead of the usual casual clothes she wears to teach, she has her robe on today, the Delta Rune emblazoned on her chest as if she didn’t have the time to change into something else before coming here. It makes you uneasy. “There were some last minute things I had to arrange,” she continues, as cheerfully as if it was any other afternoon. “With that said, ah... Today’s lesson will be held _outside._ ”

Welp. You glance over at Frisk again. They shrug, as if to say _yeah, I don’t get it either._

You’re not surprised when she leads you out into the garden. She sits down, and you settle in the grass across from her, wishing you could kick off your shoes and bury your toes in the dirt. That’s unprofessional, though. Toriel waits a moment for both of you to be comfortable before she begins to speak.

“I’m sure both off you are wondering why today’s lesson is being held outside, instead of in our usual room,” she starts. You nod, and she smiles gently, almost-- you think you catch a bit of excitement there, too. “Well, I’ll just get right into it, then. How familiar are the both of you with the concept of STATS?”

You blink. Out of all the things you’d been expecting her to say, that’d probably been the last. “Asriel’s talked about it a little before, I think,” you say slowly, trying to remember the last time he’d rambled on at you about one of his magic lessons. “He didn’t really explain much, and I wasn’t really paying attention? But...it had something to do with battling, right?”

Toriel beams at you. “Very good,” she says. “You already know more than I expected. You are right: stats have to do with battling, which is a very big part of monster culture,” she explains, which is probably for the best; Frisk looks absolutely lost, and you only know a little more than them about this, if you’re being honest. And you’ve been here a lot longer than they have. “When in a battle, it’s important to know not only your own capabilities, but the ability of your opponent,” she continues. “So monsters have devised different ways to measure their natural strengths, called stats. There are five main ones.” She holds out a paw, ticking off each one as she talks. “LV, HP, AT, DF, and EXP.”

“Are we getting quizzed on this?” you ask.

She laughs, shaking her head. “No, dear one. It is a lot of information to take in at once, so I’m simply introducing you to the topic for now. I’ll be going into much more detail with much more proper teaching material later.”

You nod, satisfied. You’re about to say something else when you see movement in your peripheral, and you turn to see Frisk signing, a thoughtful look on their face.

_If STATS are used to measure things,_ they say, _does that mean they all represent something else?_

“Correct!” Toriel says. There’s a proud gleam in her eyes, and something far too close to envy settles uncomfortably around your shoulders. You do your best to shrug it off. “Each stat stands for a specific concept. AT determines the maximum damage one can inflict upon their opponent during battle, while DF is an expression of how much damage one is protected against. HP is another measure for how much damage one’s SOUL can take in total. LV, meanwhile, often determines your stats; when one’s LV increases, it is usually the case that your other stats will increase as well.”

“So a higher LV is a good thing,” you venture. You don’t miss how she hesitates.

“It is not that simple, I’m afraid.”

_What is LV?_ Frisk asks.

“Baby don’t hurt me,” you mumble, and squawk when grass pelts the side of your head.

_I knew you were gonna say that!_ Frisk sticks their tongue out at you, and you snicker, not even bothering to pick the grass out of your hair. Worth it.

“Children,” Toriel chides gently, but you can tell she thinks it’s at least as funny as you do no matter how hard she tries to hide it. “To answer your question, Frisk,” she says, and they turn back to her, expression growing rapt as she talks “LV, plainly, is short for LOVE.”

“I was right!” you blurt, which earns you another laugh from Toriel.

“Yes, you were. But LOVE, too, is an acronym for something else.” She pauses again,more noticeably than before. You wonder if there’s a term to measure the unease that settles in your stomach at her hesitation. “It stands for Level Of ViolencE.”

None of you say anything for a moment.

“Well,” you say, breaking the short silence. “Shit.”

“Quite,” Toriel chuckles. “To be brief... LOVE is raised through EXP, which in turn stand for... EXecution Points. It’s a measure of one’s capacity to hurt. The more EXP one gains, the higher one’s LOVE rises. It can be easy to deduce how one’s other stats might increase naturally from there.”

You brush your fingers through the grass, squinting at the greenery. Even with the explanation, there’s still one thing that doesn’t make sense to you. “Okay,” you start, “so raising your EXP raises your LOVE, I get it. But how do you get _more_ of something called...ex... Um.” You trail off. Your mind is somewhere ahead of you, and even though you’re not quite caught up with it you can already tell you won’t like where this is headed. Your unease grows into something like nausea. When you look up at Toriel, the sadness in her expression makes you think she already knows you’ve guessed.

Her tone is brisk; neutral. “You kill.”

You flinch. You can’t help it. “ _Well,_ ” you say, your voice coming out more strangled than it was a moment ago.

“There are a few different ways one’s LV might increase,” she says gently, “although they happen very rarely and can not be done on purpose. None of them are ever good on one’s mental state, aside.” She shakes her head. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. While you’ll be learning everything there is to know with time, it is another stat entirely that you’ll be focusing on primarily from here.”

Frisk furrows their eyebrows, curious. _Which one?_

“I told you there are five main stats,” she says, giving you a concerned look. You know your breathing has gone funny, too tight and controlled, and you can tell she’s noticed. You shake your head as minutely as possible; you’re fine. It’s fine. She doesn’t question you. Not now, at least. “That was incorrect,” she continues, turning her attention back to you and Frisk both. “There is a sixth one, less prominently discussed because it comes so naturally to us. It is called _MP_.”

Wait. Wait a second. “Is this going where I think it’s going,” you say, unable to help the excitement in your tone now. Maybe to help forget everything else, in part. Frisk just looks confused again at the exclamation, but there’s a more genuine smile growing on Toriel’s face.

“MP,” she starts, “measures one’s capability to use magic.”

“Holy shit.” You bounce a little in your spot. Oh my god. “You’re gonna teach us magic. Holy shit!”

“I thought you might be excited,” she says, voice warm. “Yes. Both of you have grown to be very important members of our family. So it’s been decided that I’ll be teaching you magic alongside your usual studies.”

_But can humans even learn magic?_ Frisk asks, biting their lip, and you frown. They make a good point. Now that you think about it, you’ve never heard of a human using magic before. Not real magic like monsters use, anyway.

“It’s...uncertain,” Toriel allows. “As far as anyone seems to be aware, there’s been no recorded instance of humans successfully learning magic. There was a small group that had attempted to learn,” she says, and you perk up-- only to droop when she continues, “but...their learning was cut short when tensions between our races began to rise too much to make unbiased study possible. I do not believe they got very far.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” you offer, ignoring the look Frisk gives you. “At least this way they can’t use it against us.”

She blinks, surprised. “That is true. In any case, you will be undertaking a similar learning method, working to raise your MP.”

“MP is another acronym, right?” you ask.

Toriel inclines her head towards you. “That is correct. MP is short for EMPATHY.”

...You don’t know what you were expecting. What is it with monsters and weirdly sympathetic names for things?

_How are you supposed to raise something like that?_ Frisk asks, still looking confused. _That seems kind of...abstract._

“EMPATHY doesn’t stand for the emotion itself, mind,” Toriel says, “although you are in the right vein of thought.” Frisk nods, brows furrowed consideringly. “EMPATHY is also an acronym. It stands for EMPowerment And eTHicalitY.”

It’s your turn to furrow your brows. “Sounds complicated.”

“Perhaps it will be easier to understand if I explain how it relates to monsters.” She pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “As you might know, magic is a very big part of monster culture,” she says. “In short, it is an expression of our true self. It’s one of the reasons why battling is so prominent; through these battles, where we exchange displays of magic within a certain set of rules, we are celebrating not only our own selves and our unique talents, but the individuality and skills of our opponent.

“Our very bodies are _made_ of magic. It is why we do not bleed like humans do when hurt, instead turning to dust.” She runs a hand over her fur, as if in demonstration, and you try not to wince. You know very well how fragile monster bodies are. “But it is also because of this that our connection to our magic is so strong. It makes up almost everything we are, and therefore can easily become an extension of ourselves.

“In theory, it’s for the same reason that humans seem to be unable to produce magic.” It’s here that she fixes her gaze on both of you, and Frisk fidgets when she turns her gaze on them. “While magic is constantly running through our bodies, just within reach, all of your magic is locked within your SOUL. It is only a matter of working to reach it from there.”

“But- empowerment? Ethicality?” You screw up your face in confusion. “That sounds even more abstract than _empathy._ ”

“It won’t be an easy process,” she admits. “Like I said, it comes naturally to monsters because of our very natures. Even young monsters, who start off with low MP, quickly raise it without much effort as they begin to grow and understand themselves. In order to raise your MP, you two will have to go on a journey of, er...self discovery, of sorts?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say flatly.

“It doesn’t require actual travel,” she says, looking far too amused. “But MP does require a certain understanding of self. The more you truly understand your own character and values, and the more self-aware you become, the higher and more quickly it will raise. Of course,” she allows, “it is entirely possible that your MP is high enough to allow you to attempt to produce your own magic already. But, as humans, it is inevitable that you will need to undergo at least some measure of self study before you can become truly proficient.”

You lean back, thinking the information over. It makes sense, you guess; it probably takes a good connection to your soul to be able to tap into your magic and actually, you know, _use_ it. Even still... you can’t help but be a little worried. How good are you, of all people, going to be at something called _EMPATHY_?

Frisk doesn’t look much more confident when you look over at them. _Is there a way to tell what our MP is already?_

“To do that, you will need to initiate an encounter with a monster, or vice versa” Toriel says. “This will cause your soul to manifest into something more physical, which can then be analyzed. It can be strange if you’re unused to it,” she continues, “but I can at least promise that it is entirely painless.”

_I think it sounds neat,_ Frisk says, eyes wide. _I’ve never seen my soul before._ They pause. _I’ve never seen anyone’s soul before, actually._

“Unfortunately, you will have to wait until tomorrow for that,” she says, smiling apologetically at the disappointment that must show on both of your faces. “For today I thought I’d run you both through a few simple meditation exercises. If you do them well and often, it can help you gain a deeper connection to your soul.”

After all the talk about magic you just heard, being told you have to _meditate_ is probably one of the cruelest, most boring things that could possibly happen. Like, seriously. You and Frisk look at each other at the same time, though, and you feel a grin slowly spreading over your face.

You’re going to meditate harder than anyone has ever meditated before, and you’re gonna become the best human mage _ever._

///

Since the classroom is technically in your house sort of, you don’t have to worry about taking and bringing back all your stuff when class is over like Frisk does. You were kind of hoping they would stay and hang out for a little while afterwards like they usually do, but apparently they promised Alphys they would help her out around the lab today, so you’re left to your own devices, free to do whatever for the couple of hours until Asriel returns from _his_ school.

As it turns out: meditating is fucking hard. Try as you might to empty your mind, you couldn’t seem to block out thoughts of how it’ll feel to learn magic, or what Asriel’s face will look like when you show him what you’ve learned, and how bad your nose was itching. At the very least, you don’t think Frisk had much luck with it either, if the frustrated look on their face after the first ten minute attempt was anything to go by. You’ll take what you can get at this point.

It’s not good enough, though.

The sound of footsteps coming up behind you on the grass dissipates what little concentration you’d managed to gather, and you look up to see Toriel smiling gently down at you where you sit.

“You are quite the studious child,” she says, settling down next to you.

You shrug, only a little self-conscious. “I’ve wanted to learn magic for a while, you know?” You pick at the grass in the circle your criss-crossed legs make. ‘A while’ is a huge understatement, honestly. You’ve been thinking about it ever since you saw Toriel light the fireplace with just a thought; since Asgore made you your first cup of tea with a kind hand and a smile on his face; since Asriel cast a gentle, shimmering glow over your shared bedroom in the middle of the night and asked _isn’t it cool, Chara?_ , looking at you anxiously as if he hadn’t just brought down the sky. You smile to yourself at the thought. “I want to be good.”

“I have no doubt you will be,” she says. “You have always worked very hard at the things you’re interested in. If anyone can make this work, it’s you.” She smiles at you warmly, proudly, and you can’t help the flutter that rises in your chest at the praise, even as you can’t quite believe it. 

“Chara...” she continues, and something in her expression slips. “I did not disturb you with our discussion earlier, did I?” 

Oh.

The warmth her words had given you drains away slowly as she talks, turning to ash in your mouth. “It is not an easy topic to cover, and I understand if it makes you uncomfortable to think about LV and everything it implies. If you have any questions you’d feel more comfortable asking while we’re alone,” she says, voice as reassuring as it’s ever been, “I would be more than willing to answer without you having to fear any risk of judgement.”

You swallow and look away. There’s an endless sort of kindness in her eyes, deep enough that you’re afraid you’ll drown in it, sometimes, and you can’t help but feel overwhelmed. You want to trust her. You do. But there’s a different fear deep down in you that you don’t think will ever let you go no matter how many times the Dreemurrs tell you it’s okay. It’s terrifying in more ways than one.

“Um.” You bite your lip, looking down at the grass. “If someone has a higher LV, that would make their MP higher too, right? Since it’s supposed to raise stats?”

“A very good question.” She shifts next to you, looking out over the garden in your peripheral, and you relax slightly as she turns the full force of her attention away from you. “In the case of MP, I’m afraid the relation is different. MP describes the force of one’s connection to their SOUL, while LV creates a barrier between the soul and one’s self. It’s simplifying the matter greatly,” she finishes, “but in essence, a higher LV may make it more difficult for one to increase their MP as a result.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t say anything else, and you’re grateful for the chance to think without pressure. You think, absently, that it was probably a good thing Frisk couldn’t stay today after all.

“Is there a way to lower someone’s LV?” you ask. You peer at her out of the corner of your eye just in time to see her hesitating again.

“There are...a few,” she says. “But most of them are either dangerous, painful, or a mix of both, and none of them are guaranteed to work. The safest way is to simply work to raise one’s MP. By strengthening the bond to their soul, it’s possible for someone with high LV to repair the damage that the EXP has dealt to the connection. But even still,” she says, shaking her head, “it is practically impossible to decrease the amount of EXP one has gained.”

You nod, mostly to yourself. You hadn’t really been expecting anything different. “I just have one more question,” you say, looking down at the grass again. You breathe. “Does having LV make me a bad person?”

You freeze the second you realize how personal you made the question without meaning to and, shit, shit _shit,_ she’ll know now, there’s no way she doesn’t-- she looks down at you and you flinch, not daring to look up, trying to remember how to breathe.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean- I’ll be good, I promise--”

“Chara,” she says, and you bite your tongue. “Do you think I am a bad person?”

You can’t stop yourself from looking up at her, eyes wide. “What? Of course not!” 

“Is Asgore?” she asks, eyes soft and sad and...something. “Is Gerson?”

You shake your head. “No, you- you’re the best people I know, no fucking question.”

“Then why would it be any different for you?”

Your breath catches at that. For the first time, you find you can’t look away from her face. Is she saying they...?

“Having LV doesn’t make you a bad person.” She holds out a paw, a wordless invitation, and you place your trembling hand on top of hers. She holds you steady. “I know you wouldn’t hurt anybody if you had the choice,” she says, her voice wavering for a moment before she corrects it. “And I am...deeply sorry that you were ever in a situation where that was a choice you had to make. Even if you do have LV...that doesn’t change the fact that you have gained so much _love._ ” When she looks at you, her expression is full of so much care that you almost don’t know how to handle it. “Do you understand?”

For a moment, you can’t move. But then you’re nodding, and your throat goes tight and hot, and you couldn’t stop the sniffle that escapes you if you tried. Which, uh. You tried.

“Oh, child,” Toriel says, opening up her arms, and you don’t have to be asked twice; you lean forward into her embrace, having to practically crawl into her lap to do so. It’s-- safe.

“I will not ask you to talk about it,” she says quietly, once you’ve calmed down enough that you’re no longer outright leaking all over her. “But if, at any point, you would like to do so, you have any number of people who are willing to listen as much as you need.”

You nod against her chest. That’s a kindness you won’t ever let yourself take, you don’t think, but she’s done too much for you to refuse outright. They all have. “Can I ask you something?” you say instead, looking up at her.

“Of course.”

“Can you...not tell anybody else? I don’t--” You have to pause, your voice determined to rebel against you as it is, but Toriel nods in understanding before you can continue.

“I will not say a single word,” she promises, and you feel the last of your tension leave you for good. You can’t see her face when you go to hug her tighter again, but you can hear her smile, almost. “I love you very much, Chara.”

There’s no way she could really hear it when you mumble the words into her chest, but from the way her arms tighten around you in turn, you don’t think it matters.


	2. FRISK: and these epithets of yours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will initiate an encounter with both of you at the same time, so you can both see what it feels like. Is that alright?” Your answering nods are quick to come, and a smile breaks across her face. You’ll give Toriel one thing: she really gets down to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> references to past abuse in this chapter. nothing explicit, but still present

You glance at Chara where they stand next to you, hands clasped behind their back, and try not to feel out of place. It’s...working. Mostly. You’re not in the garden today, learning instead in a similar room beyond it without the sea of plant life you’re so used to surrounding you in this place. Probably to make sure you don’t hurt any flowers on accident while you learn, you think.

“When engaging in a battle,” Toriel says, looking between both of you, “there are a number of rules set into place to make sure it is fair for both parties involved. The etiquette is different in a monster/monster encounter and a monster/human encounter, but because the end goal of this lesson isn’t a battle, we will disregard those rules for now. I will not be using offensive magic on either of you today. Are there any questions so far?”

You shake your head, and you see Chara do the same. Toriel nods. You’ll give her one thing: she really gets down to business.

“I will initiate an encounter with both of you at the same time, so you can both see what it feels like. Is that alright?” Your answering nods are quick to come, and a smile breaks across her face. “Then let us begin!” And--

_Oh._

It’s like...the ache in your ribs you get after laughing too hard, trying to catch your breath, except you can breathe just fine and that’s _you,_ floating cheerfully a couple feet in front of your chest like it belongs there. Maybe it does? It’s hard to tell.

Toriel makes an intrigued noise from where she stands. “It looks like you two have the same SOUL type,” she says. “I was wondering.”

Chara’s collected air has vanished, completely enthralled with a soul colored the exact same shade of red as your own when you look over, and you’re glad that they didn’t know what this was going to be like any more than you did; maybe it’s selfish, but you feel like you can enjoy this all a little more when you don’t feel like you have to struggle to catch up. They know just as little as you here, don’t they?

“There are other types?” they ask, breathless. They don’t look up, still staring down at their soul, and you can’t help but be grateful that they asked in your place; there’s no way you’d be able to look away from yours long enough to sign.

“Such a distinction among souls is something that’s only found among humans,” Toriel explains, “manifesting in different colors, which seems to represent a certain dominant trait. Cyan for patience; orange for bravery; indigo for integrity; purple for perseverance; green for kindness; and yellow for justice. There are seven in total.” She gestures to your souls, glowing faintly. “Red, as far as we know, is for determination.”

“Dude,” Chara says, finally looking up to grin. “That is _so cool._ ”

“I am glad you think so,” she says, a laugh in her voice. “How do you two feel?”

 _It’s...kind of weird,_ you admit. _But not as different as I thought it would be._

Chara makes a noise of agreement. “I know you said it wouldn’t hurt, but I think I kind of expected it to anyway?” They kneel down a little as if to get a closer look, but it just bobs down with them, and they frown. “It doesn’t, though.”

Toriel nods, satisfied. “If it ever hurts to initiate an encounter, that is a sign that something is very wrong. Please be sure to let the monster involved know if that is the case.”

“Yeah,” Chara says, sounding distracted. They try to bat at their soul with a hand, only for it to move away from their fingers as if deflected by some sort of barrier, and they make a face before giving up. “So, how do we tell what our STATS are?”

“Oh! That is very simple.” Toriel nods to your souls with a gesture of her hands. “You ask it.”

What.

 _Out loud?_ you ask instead, and the smile Toriel gives you before shaking her head makes you think she can sense your uncertainty.

“No, child. Not with any language. One communicates with their soul with _intent._ Focus your thoughts on your soul,” she says, placing her hands over her chest, “and try to envision one of your stats. It should come naturally.” She pauses, giving you the chance to ask any questions. It’s not that you really _understand_ ; you just don’t even know what questions to ask in the first place to make things easier. You’re starting to think you’ll just have to try. She nods again when neither of you speak up. “ Let’s try HP first, shall we?”

Looking down at your soul again, you squint at it, hoping that will help you...somehow. Squinting just helps. You shift a little, and your soul moves to keep even with you; you wonder what makes it do that. Is it just fixed to that one position? But -- no, it moved more than Chara did when they tried to touch it, and raising a finger in an experimental poke produces the same results. So...how does it know when to move? 

...Maybe it’s alive?

You resist the urge to make a face at yourself. No, that’s dumb. Toriel said that you’re supposed to communicate with your soul with your intent. If anything, it can probably just tell what you’re doing because you _intend_ to disrupt its business, right? Which. Okay, that actually makes a lot of sense and you’re kind of surprised you thought of it.

For once, it looks like your wandering train of thought has actually helped you. If you’re right, then you already have a vague idea of what you’re supposed to do. Just...come at it a little sideways, and...

 _Twenty_ blooms in your mind like a really out of place flower. You blink. You got it on your first try?

“Twenty-eight,” comes over from your right, and you look in time to see Chara shrug. “I mean, I think so, at least.”

 _Yours is higher than mine!_ you say, smiling at them encouragingly. _Your SOUL must be stronger or something._

“You both are already doing very well,” Toriel says. She looks pleased when you turn back to her, and you try not to feel guilty about the pride that rises in your chest from her words. “It should be easier to see your other stats from there. Try your MP now.”

It’s a lot less intimidating to go into it now that you know what you’re doing, and you look up from your soul a moment later. _It says two,_ you relay, only to pause for a moment. _It feels really close to three though? If that makes sense._

Chara’s frowning down at their soul, muttering to themself. You wonder if maybe they’re having a hard time recognizing their stats, even though they didn’t seem to have any trouble with their HP, but then they shake their head, almost as if shaking water from their hair. “One,” they say, in a tone that feels almost a little too neutral. “They can’t all be winners.”

“That is perfectly alright.” Toriel’s voice is gentle, but it’s hard to miss the clench of Chara’s jaw. You look away. “ _Both_ of you have a lot of work to do. Even in monsters, the smallest amount of magic can not be produced entirely unassisted until around 6 MP. The human who advanced most under our study rose only to 5,” she says, “so even once you reach that point, I’m afraid most of your instruction from there will have to be played by ear.”

You nod. That makes sense. You can’t help but wonder what happened to the humans who’d tried to learn magic but had to give up. Maybe they just forgot, with no way to keep learning. _So what do we do for now?_ you ask. _Just try to raise it as high as we can?_

“Actually...” She pauses for a moment, a smile growing on her face. “There is another alternative.”

“Are you saying there’s a way we can do magic right now?” Chara says, and you feel an excitement mirroring their own beginning to grow in your chest as Toriel nods.

“When teaching young monsters who are having particular difficulty coming into their magic, it is not uncommon to provide them with an aide. Fortunately, it works on humans as well.” She steps back to a small bag placed against the far wall, and you watch, curious, as she takes it up in her hands and begins to rifle through it, stepping closer to you. “Normally, these are only given to monsters whose levels of magic are extremely depleted because of either overexertion or injury, but its versatility makes it especially useful.”

She steps over to Chara first, holding something out to them, and you hold out your hands preemptively when she comes to you. She presses something smooth and cool into your hands.

It’s...a vial?

“It’s pretty,” Chara says. They’re not wrong; the liquid inside is a deep blue that reminds you of the clear night sky after sunset, bottomless and dark. You bring it up to your nose to get a better look. “What is it?”

“An elixir, made specifically to increase the amount of latent magic in whoever consumes it,” Toriel explains. “Drinking it will give your MP a boost and allow you to produce your own magic. It is not permanent, however,” she warns. “It is only a learning tool to allow you to experience what magic feels like and consequently further strengthen your connection to your soul. The buffer will wear off about an hour after consumption.”

“So you’re telling me,” Chara says, grinning down at the vial in their hands, “all I have to do is drink this and I’ll be able to shoot fireballs out of my hands?”

“Well,” Toriel starts, obviously fighting back a laugh, “that all depends on you.”

Chara squints up at her. “What do you mean?”

“Magic is a reflection of one’s soul. Thus, even among families, whose magic may be similar through relation, no two people’s magic will be exactly the same. That said...” She holds up her hands, palms up. “It is often the case that one will lean towards active magic --” A flame flickers to life in one palm, licking at her fingers gently, “--more suited towards battle and offense, or passive magic,” she says, her other palm beginning to glow green, “usually used for healing or support.” She drops her hands, the magic dying with it. “While it’s not uncommon to have a proficiency in both, usually one will have a natural tendency towards one over the other. It all depends on the nature of your soul.”

“Hm.” Chara gives their soul a dubious look. “How do we tell? Do we ask it that, too?”

“I wish it were that simple. Unfortunately, this is one of those things you can only learn through trial and error. But I believe that is half the fun!” She nods toward you both. “You are free to try as soon as you drink those.”

It doesn’t _smell_ bad when you twist off the top. If you’re being honest, it doesn’t really smell like anything at all. Which is weird. The color of the liquid is inviting, though, and you’ve eaten stuff that looked a lot less appetizing in the past, so it’s only after a moment’s hesitation that you down it all in one go.

It doesn’t really... _taste_ like anything, either. A faint metallic aftertaste, maybe, if you concentrate really hard, but that could just as easily be wishful thinking. You thought that maybe it would make you feel different too, like you’d feel a sudden rush of...magical energy or something, but. It’s almost as if you didn’t drink anything at all. You don’t know what you expected. 

“Now what?” Chara asks. Their own bottle is empty, and they hand it over to Toriel when she steps forward, placing it back in the bag.

“Now you try to manifest your magic,” she says, taking your empty vial next. “This is where the real difficulty lies for many people, especially for those who have little personal experience with magic. Today, your goal is simply to make your magic form in any way you can.”

“I’ll just get right on that,” Chara says, sarcasm practically dripping from their voice, and you bite back a wince on reflex. Toriel doesn’t seem offended, though.

“I would not ask you to attempt this entirely on your own,” she reassures. “That is why I am here; to help guide you to the point where you don’t need to rely on me so heavily.” She sets down the bag at her feet. She pauses for a moment when she straightens up, thinking. “I would like you to try something that should help give you an idea on what to do, if you are ready. Close your eyes for me.”

Your world darkens as you follow her directions. Now that your eyes are closed, without all the extra sensory input distracting you, you realize you’re starting to get a headache, which is annoying. It’s not like you’ve even been looking at anything particularly bright today. You guess it’s just what you get for being outside for so long.

“Think back,” Toriel says. “What is something that has personal significance for you? Something that has given you comfort in times of distress? Focus on that feeling. Imagine it flowing through you, originating from your soul. As you do this, hold your hands up and envision that feeling taking shape. It is important not to rush it.” There’s a certain authority in her voice, and you find yourself nodding without thinking. “It will come to you when the moment is right.”

Something of personal significance... It’s hard to choose, when there are so many things you’ve found and people have given you that you’ve come to treasure so much, especially in the past couple of months alone. But despite all that, none of it seems to feel right. You find yourself frowning slightly. It can’t be that you don’t appreciate your gifts enough. Right? There _has_ to be--

...Oh. Nevermind.

You remember now, back from before you’d finally gathered the courage to leave and find someplace new for yourself; they’d let you outside sometimes, to play in the backyard when you were good, free to do whatever you wanted as long as you weren’t loud. There was a tree growing in a neighbor’s yard whose branches stuck over the wall, and one of the smaller ones had gotten snapped somehow, dangling within your reach. You’d gotten in trouble for breaking it off, but. It’d been worth it to feel like you had something to protect yourself with, even if you never dared to use it for anything other than pretend.

You hadn’t had the time to take it with you. You haven’t thought about it since you left, you realize.

Even with the pang of regret that hits you at the thought, you can feel your determination growing alongside it. That has to be it. If that doesn’t work, nothing else will. Sure now, you breathe in and out slowly, hoping that the breathing techniques Toriel taught you to help you meditate will make it easier to focus. Think about the satisfaction of something heavy in your hands. The bark scratching on your palms. How it felt to imagine yourself safe and strong and confident, even if nothing could be farther from the truth. The smell of sap stinging your nose.

So focused are you on your thoughts that you don’t feel the weight in your hands until Toriel makes a surprised noise from across the room. The texture is smooth and wooden on your palms.

You open your eyes and drop it as if burned.

The baseball bat hits the grass with a solid _thunk,_ and you skitter back as if pulled away by a string. Concentration broken, it dissipates a moment later, but you can still _see_ it, chipped red paint and worn wooden grip and you feel kind of like you’re going to be sick, which isn’t even the worst part, because Toriel and Chara are both looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“Frisk?” Toriel’s voice is thick with concern. “Are you alright?”

 _I was just surprised,_ you say, any shakiness in your hands hidden by the movement of your signs. _I did it._ _Can I go now please?_

Toriel looks hesitant. “Well, since you’ve technically completed the lesson, I suppose--”

That’s all you need. You turn around before she can take it back, leaving the room with their eyes on your back and embarrassment hot on your heels. As if that was ever something you could outrun. You just can’t stand to be in there right now, you couldn’t stand to try again, not when that’s all there is waiting for you, and you just--

You thought you left that all _behind._

///

The door to the room opens with a soft click. You can feel the impact of Chara’s boots on the floor as they walk across the wood, making their way to their bed.

Belatedly, you shoot out a hand to announce your presence. You’d laugh at the noise they make -- a cough almost, like they were choking back a shriek -- if you didn’t feel bad for scaring them.

“ _Christ,_ ” they wheeze. There’s a pause, then, and then the shuffle of them kneeling down on their elbows and knees to peer under the bed. They frown when they see you there. “Frisk? I thought you went home.”

 _Surprise_ , you sign. It’s a little hard to do in the limited space, but the underneath of Asriel’s bed is surprisingly spacious if you ignore some of the boxes digging into your back.

“That’s one way to describe it.” They don’t sound angry, though, and you’re glad. They go to sit on their own bed, and you scoot a little closer to the open so you can still just barely see them. “You should’ve stayed,” they say, propping a leg up to untie a boot. “It took a while, but I managed to make some kickass fire. I couldn’t hold it for very long, though.” They pause for a moment, and you can almost hear them frowning again. “Toriel said it’s not that weird to get tired when you first start doing magic, but it kind of felt like she was just saying that to make me feel better. Which I mean-- okay, it kind of feels like that most of the time anyway, but I’m pretty sure I’m right this time.”

 _I think it sounds cool._ You see them peer over to get a better look at your signs, and you try to stretch out a little further so they can see. 

“What about you, though?” they ask, and the dread that settles in your stomach makes you want to shuffle back until you’re pressed against the wall. If only you could. “I wasn’t able to see anything before you ran off.”

 _Nothing exciting,_ you say, maybe a bit too hastily, but you can’t see Chara’s face well enough to tell what expression they’re wearing. _Yours sounds a lot cooler._

“Hm.” They’re quiet for a moment. And then, a little bitterly, “If you don’t want to tell me, fine. But I’m going to see it in class eventually.”

You wince. You guess you should’ve known they’d take it personally. Even still...

_I don’t think I want to learn magic anymore._

“ _What,_ ” Chara says, jerking upright from where they’d begun to lean back, and the shock in their voice edges enough on anger that you press yourself back on reflex. “But why!”

 _I just don’t think I’ll be very good at it,_ you lie. Chara makes a frustrated noise in the back of their throat.

“That’s bullshit! You’ve barely even started and your MP is already way higher than mine, so what gives? Do you just not like your magic or something? Because I swear I’ll--”

 _I hate it!_ you snap, a frustrated hiss escaping from between your teeth without you meaning it to, and you wish you could take it back, but the way Chara’s mouth closes with an audible click of their teeth makes it pretty clear you can’t. You’d slump even further into the floor if you could. _I hate it._

“I’m sorry,” Chara says, once it’s clear you’re not going to add anything else.

 _It’s not your fault._ And then, because you’re tired and angry and can’t seem to stop yourself, _It was a baseball bat. Like the one my uncle used._

Chara’s “Oh,” is distant.

They take a big, deep breath. “I’m gonna kill him,” they say, almost cheerfully. You balk at what you can see of their legs.

_You wouldn’t._

“I would.” Their tone is still far too bright. “I can.” And then they laugh, but it peters off quickly, leaving the room silent. You don’t think either of you know what to say. When Chara breaks back in, their tone is flat. “I killed my parents, you know.”

...Oh.

When you push yourself half out from underneath the bed, Chara’s expression is just as flat as their voice except for the smile pulling at their lips. You wonder what yours looks like. _What happened?_

“They’d been trying to kill me for years, but I think they finally decided to finish the job. I didn’t really feel like dying. So I killed them first.” They shrug, as casually as if they were discussing the weather. “That’s why my HP is higher than yours, if you were wondering. My LV is at 3.”

You nod. You don’t know what it says about you, that finding out your friend has killed people doesn’t really phase you. You guess it should be pretty obvious by now that you’re kind of messed up.

You pick at the carpet for a moment before looking back at them. _I guess that means this magic thing is pretty hard for both of us then, huh._

They laugh, but it’s a little more genuine this time. “That’s one way to put it.”

 _I’m sorry,_ you say. _I shouldn’t have panicked and ran out like that._

“Why are _you_ apologizing?” They slide off the bed to sit on the floor across from you, smile not quite replaced by a frown. “You’re the one who got sent to flashback hell. It’s not like I handle that shit any better.”

You want to tell them. Tell them that you were supposed to do this together, that them learning magic has to bring up memories at least as bad as yours and yet they’re still sticking with it, that they’ve shared such a big piece of themself with you and you can’t even offer anything back. Apologizing is the only thing you can think of.

“Come on.”

You blink up at them in time to see them pulling on their boots. _Where are you going?_

“I’m pretty sure neither of us has eaten since this morning,” they say, “so _we_ are going to Grillby’s for lunch and Asriel is going to meet us there on the way back from school.” They’re quick to tie their laces up, and they tap their shoes on the floor for good measure before climbing to their feet. “Hurry up!”

You resist the urge to screw up your face. You don’t really feel like going anywhere right now, but then again... _food._

Huffing quietly, you pull yourself out from under the bed the rest of the way. Chara grins like they’ve just won a huge battle instead of succeeded in getting you out from hiding. You stick your tongue out at them, and wonder if maybe today won’t turn out so bad after all.


	3. CHARA: HATE, too, is an acronym.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t think you were coming.”
> 
> Frisk loiters for a moment in the doorway. They hesitate, like they still haven’t decided what they want to do and something as simple as a breeze could push them back out the door, but then they step forward and the moment passes like you imagined it. _I’m tired of running all the time._ They don’t quite look at you. _You know?_

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

Frisk loiters for a moment in the doorway. They hesitate, like they still haven’t decided what they want to do and something as simple as a breeze could push them back out the door, but then they step forward and the moment passes like you imagined it. _I’m tired of running all the time._ They don’t quite look at you. _You know?_

You nod, because you do. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

_Where’s Toriel?_ they ask, glancing around the room. You make a face.

“She said she had to go to a meeting this morning, and that she’ll probably be late again.”

_At least we know she’s not in trouble this time._

“I don’t know. I still think it’s weird.” You’re expecting Frisk to look at you like they think you’re paranoid, or are reading too much into things, but their expression is nothing more than neutral. Not that that means much with them. Whatever. “She’s always made sure to organize everything so that things like this didn’t happen. Not that I’m, like, _complaining._ She’s busy, I get it. It’s just--”

_Weird,_ Frisk finishes for you. 

“Yes.” There’s nothing for you to fidget with in here, so you settle for folding your hands behind your back instead. “What do you think?”

They shrug. _I don’t really know her well enough to guess if she’s the type of person to keep important stuff like that from us._

You feel a frown settle onto your features, as familiar as if it belonged there. “If she thought it was something we were better off not knowing? Absolutely. But then again, if it was important enough that she had to change her schedule around to deal with it, it’d probably involve stuff we’re not supposed to know about anyway.”

_Like the mountain,_ Frisk supplies, _and the humans._

“Exactly. Damn.” You sigh. “Snooping is hard.”

Frisk stares at you for one moment. Two. Their expression doesn’t change at all as they slowly trace a tear down their cheek.

You bite back a splutter. “Shut up, Frisk.”

_But I didn’t say anything,_ they sign, the smile quirking their lips turning into an expression better described as quizzical as you kneel down. _What are you doing?_

“Stay still.” You begin to undo your laces. “I need to throw my shoe at you.”

“Mmm,” Frisk hums, which has you blinking up at them, expecting them to sign something. You’re _not_ expecting them to flip you off with both hands, a huge grin on their face as they backpedal out of the room. You stare at the empty space they’d been occupying just moments before.

“Oh, that’s cold,” you say. Their answering snicker echoes from the next room over.

///

“Child--”

“I’m _trying,_ ” you grit from between your teeth. The flame in your cupped hands sputters as if the breath from your words was in danger of putting it out, the fluttering heartbeat on your palms skipping a beat. You refuse. Keep it beating. Your vision swims, and you ignore it.

“Let go,” Toriel says, the tone of her voice booking no argument. The fire dies as if it was one of hers and not yours, and you really _can’t_ ignore the way your vision darkens for more than a few moments. Toriel’s hands on your shoulders steady you before you can sway to the point of falling. “Breathe,” she instructs.

You do. It’s hard to catch your breath, though, and you think you might be sweating, which would just be hilarious. Anyone else would probably think you’ve been running laps, not practicing magic. It’s pathetic.

“Are you alright?” Toriel asks a few moments later, when it looks less like you’re about to fall on your face.

“Fine,” you say, careful not to look over to where you can feel Frisk staring at you. You don’t want to see the concern probably etched into the lines under their eyes. You don’t need anyone’s pity. “Just a little tired. I want to try again.”

“I do not think that would be wise.” She doesn’t falter at the frown that you know is there. “Chara. Even at the very beginning phases of learning, practicing magic should not drive you to this level of exhaustion.”

“So, what? You think I should _stop?_ ” Scowling, you shrug off her hands. The firm set of her eyes gentles a little.

“Not at all. I think, perhaps, you are simply coming at this from the wrong direction.”

You feel yourself still. “What do you mean?”

“Are you sure that offensive magic is the right way to go?”

All you can do for a moment is stare at her, disbelieving. “No. No way.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to discount the possibility.” She shrugs, somehow managing to make the gesture look regal. “It’s not unreasonable to wonder if your talents don’t lie somewhere more towards the realm of support.”

“Like- like what, _healing?_ ” you say, the words spluttering into a laugh before you can stop yourself. “No way in hell!”

“It is simply a suggestion.” She holds her hands up placatingly. “Will you at least try to consider it?”

What are you even supposed to say to that? How are you supposed to take this any more seriously than a badly delivered joke? It’s obvious what she wants you to say, though, so you stuff your hands in your pockets and try not to look too insincere when you nod, already turning to take Frisk’s place at the far wall. You don’t look at them as they move past you, and they don’t try to say anything. Smart of them.

The brick of the wall digs a little into your back when you lean against it, the texture grounding even through the fabric of your sweater. You just...need a moment to think.

Under Toriel’s direction, Frisk summons their magic with far more ease than you did. You hadn’t been able to get a good look at it before, but it’s as clear as day now; Frisk stares down at the worn bat in their hands like they’re holding a wounded animal. The moment passes though, and you’re left watching as Toriel runs them through various exercises without event.

Would healing magic be that easy for you?

It’s almost funny, when you take a moment to actually think about it. Frisk is stuck with magic they can’t seem to stand, so why wouldn’t you? Why would the universe ever make things _easy_? The thought sits on your tongue like a joke, making your lips curl, brick scraping against your fingernails as you dig them into the mortar; all of you can have a fucking laugh. Incredible.

As if on cue, the ground seems to shift underneath your feet. You slide against the wall in a controlled fall until you’re sitting on the ground, and bare your teeth in a grin.

///

Asriel finds you at your usual spot where you wait for him on the days when you go to walk him home from school. The other kids have stopped trying to talk to you by now, and most of the teachers on this side of the building have learned to leave you alone, so it’s a quiet wait. It’s frustrating, sometimes, that no matter how hard you try you still can’t seem to figure out how to line your edges up against another person without seeming to tear their patience to pieces, but. It’s fine. You like the quiet anyway.

“Howdy!” 

The greeting is paired with the usual smile, Asriel’s backpack slung over his shoulders. All at once, tension you hadn’t even been aware you’d been holding begins to leak out of your limbs, running rivulets into the cement; the way that even just Asriel’s presence has such a tremendous effect on you would be terrifying, if you hadn’t already long resigned yourself to the fact that it’s kind of just a thing that happens. It’s not like it’s really unwelcome half the time anyway.

“Greetings,” you say, your exaggerated imitation of Toriel’s speech turning your voice lilted. “How was your day, my dear?”

Asriel falls into step immediately, lowering his voice in a way that never fails to make it almost impossible to not break character. “It was quite beautiful! The birds were blooming, flowers were singing-- wait.”

You choke on your laugh, covering your mouth to keep spit from flying everywhere. “Holy shit, Asriel!”

He groans, moving past you to begin the walk back home. “Oh no. What have I done.”

“A perfect game for a day of catch!” you chirp, trotting after him, and you can’t help the snicker that rises from your chest as Asriel groans even louder than before.

“You hate me,” he pouts.

You cup your cheek in a hand, giving him the most pitying look you can manage. Even though he’s not looking at you, you want him to _feel_ it. “Only a little.”

He blows a raspberry, which makes you laugh again, and you fall into step beside each other easily, neither of you speaking for a few moments. You catch yourself folding your hands behind your back, and you hastily stuff them in your pockets before Asriel can notice.

“How’d training go?” he asks. You keep your expression neutral.

“Frisk did well. I mean, that’s kind of to be expected since their MP is already pretty high, but Toriel seemed pretty impressed.” You shrug. “She said something about being surprised that they could keep their magic stable like they did during practice.”

“Gosh, that’s cool!” Asriel scrunches up his nose, looking for a moment like a very disgruntled rabbit. Sort of. “It took me forever to be able to learn how to keep my magic going for more than a couple seconds at a time. I kept getting distracted by how awesome it looked.”

“It’s alright,” you say dismissively, and you grin at Asriel as he bumps his shoulder into yours.

“What about you, though?” he asks. Instantly, you feel your smile lock into place.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh.” At that, he appears _thoughtful,_ of all things, which is so entirely not the appropriate reaction that you can only narrow your eyes at him. “Well...I bet it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was,” he says, and yep, there it is.

“I would rather not talk about it,” you repeat, the words stiff without you trying. The way Asriel’s expression instantly turns apologetic doesn’t make you feel any better.

“Sorry.”

A moment passes where you do nothing but clench your teeth and breathe. Then, “It’s fine,” you sigh. “I’ll tell you later or whatever. How’d school go?”

The subject change isn’t exactly smooth, but Asriel takes it in stride nonetheless. “It was great! We’re supposed to be learning how to play some instruments soon. I kind of wanna learn the drums,” he says, “but I think I’m gonna go with the guitar. It just seems like the simpler choice, y’know?”

“Whatever you pick, you should teach me too.” You shrug when Asriel glances over at you. “I don’t know how to play any instruments.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, uncertainly. “I mean, Mom and Dad could probably find someone really good to teach you if you wanted.”

“I know,” you say. “But I want to learn it from you.”

Asriel’s ensuing smile seems almost more embarrassed than anything, but you can see the way he still beams under it. You know he’s aware by now that you would prefer his company over a stranger’s any day. He’s just dumb and _gross._

“Well, gosh,” he says. “Then I’d be happy to teach you!”

Tucking your thumbs into the belt loops of your shorts, you look out over the buildings in the distance. The day has already hit its peak, and while it’s been far from cool out, you haven’t regretted wearing your jacket yet. One small blessing, maybe. “Okay,” you say, scuffing the sole of a sneaker against the sidewalk as you spin around in front of him, walking backwards in favor of looking him in the eyes. “So how’d it really go?”

He jerks a little, surprised. “What do you mean?”

You look at him for a moment. You’ve noticed, in the past couple of years you’ve known him, that while Asriel’s issues may not extend as far as yours, your ways of dealing with them are far too similar for them to have escaped your notice. You’d be afraid that you somehow passed your bullshit onto him if he wasn’t already pulling this sort of stuff when you didn’t know him well enough to call him on it.

Because Asriel isn’t as encompassingly _nice_ as he likes people to think he is. It took you a while to realize, but nine times out of ten when he’s not whining or complaining, it’s just to hide how he really feels. It’s almost scary how good he is at pretending everything is fine. As if there weren’t dozens of people willing to be there for him if he just reached out enough to call for help.

He probably gets that from Asgore.

You don’t say that, though. Instead, “Something’s up,” you say. “I can tell.”

You both stare at each other for a minute, the only sound the tap of your shoes against the pavement. Just as the silence has stretched long enough that you’re sure he’s going to deny it, he looks away. You try not to feel too pleased. “I hate when you do that,” he says glumly.

“Because you know I’m right,” you retort, maybe a bit too shortly. He doesn’t react except to scrunch up his nose again, though. You resist the urge to boop it.

“I overheard my teacher saying something weird on the phone after school,” he says.

“What?” You stop in your tracks, forcing him to stop with you. “What’d they say?”

He’s starting to look uncomfortable now, glancing to the side - everywhere but you. “I left my book in class, and when I went back, the door wasn’t closed all the way. And they were... saying stuff about you and the magic lessons. I mean-- not you specifically!” he adds hastily, “Just like, you, and Frisk, y’know, in general!”

“Asriel,” you prompt, speaking past the sudden icy tightness in your chest.

“They said the only reason you’re learning magic is so you can fight with us if there’s a war.”

It takes a moment for you to register the words, all spoken in one breath like they are, but you can’t stop hearing them once you do.

For the war.

They’re _using_ you?

“Chara?” 

You turn around. Asriel’s footsteps hurry after you as you walk. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re upset,” he says. Which is hilarious, because he sounds far more distraught in those two words than your five.

“What makes you say that?”

“I can _tell,_ ” he says, and you don’t bother moving your hands where they’re folded behind your back. Whatever. He can think what he wants.

“I just need to think,” you say. “What else did your teacher say?”

“I couldn’t hear the rest,” he says, “so-- we don’t know everything! I could be totally wrong!”

“Maybe.”

Asriel steps up to keep pace beside you, and you glance over at him. “But--” he says, cutting himself off before biting his lip. He continues before you can prompt him yourself. “You know that even if that’s why they’re letting you learn magic, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, right?” He plucks at the hem of his sweater, looking at you with wide, sincere eyes. “Mom would never go along with something like that if you didn’t have a choice.”

You can’t help but relax a little at that. Even as your mind is already starting to churn with the beginning of betrayed, angry thoughts, the truth of what Asriel is saying still manages to clear away the storm just a little. Loathe as you are to trust anyone -- loathe as you are to trust adults -- you trust the consistency of their past actions, and you trust Asriel. You take a moment to breathe.

“You’re right,” you allow. “Still. The thought that anyone out there is trying to... to--” You give up on the words, huffing a short, frustrated sigh. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither.”

“Don’t say anything to Frisk,” you tell him. “Not yet. They deserve to know, but... I want to be sure first.”

“I won’t,” he says. 

“...You know” you muse, after a long moment of neither of you saying anything, “if Frisk knows how to play, we could start a band.”

Asriel chokes on his spit. You make fun of him the rest of the way home.

///

Tucked under the covers that night, you stare up at the ceiling. Asriel is already asleep, his soft snores assuring you of his presence. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t annoying, sometimes, but. After all your shit he’s put up with, you can more than deal.

Distracted, you bite at the nail of your thumb. Even while sleep does its best to drag at your limbs, your mind is far too alert, keeping you up like it usually does when you know better than anyone else that the _last_ thing you need is more hours to let your thoughts get ahead of you, no one around to distract you. You don’t trust yourself to go outside; fuck knows where you’d end up if you let your feet carry you wherever, and you don’t want Asriel to wake up to find you gone. After what’s happened today, he’d probably think that you tried to fuck off again or something.

Honestly, you wouldn’t really blame him.

Trying not to make too much noise, you shift over on your side so you’re facing the wall. It’s like Asriel said, isn’t it? You don’t know everything. It’s dumb to assume. But when the only way to find out more is something so entirely out of your reach, you can’t _help_ it; it’s not as if you’ll be so lucky as to find yet more letters lying around somewhere you can manage to find them without leaving a mess, and the thought of sneaking into one of Toriel’s meetings is just downright laughable. You’re backed into a corner, stuck in the dark with no conceivable way out. You hate it almost as much as you hate the fact that it’s so familiar.

You hiss as the tang of iron fills your mouth. It’s only once you notice it that the flesh of your thumb you’ve bitten into begins to sting, driving you to squint at it in the dark. Figures. Frowning, you stick it back in your mouth, wishing glumly you weren’t such a fucking mess. 

Breathe. Just-- stop. You close your eyes, pressing your forehead against the wall. There’s no point in thinking about this anymore. Not right now, at least; all you’re doing is running yourself in bigger and bigger circles.

Well.

There is _one_ thing you can do.

Tired as you are, it doesn’t take much to deepen your breathing, letting the tension slide off your bones inch by inch. Clearing your mind is out of the question, but you try your best, and soon enough you’re floating in the dark. It’s like dissociating, almost, except you feel almost _too_ real in your body, the sum of yourself pressing against the inside of your skin. Just pull a little _here,_ and...

The warmth that spreads from your chest is that of sitting in front of a fireplace. It’s lying down in the grass, patches of sunlight beaming between the trees -- it’s every smile you’ve ever meant and every giggle fit that didn’t leave you feeling hollow after. It’s too much. It’s not enough. When it fades, you can almost convince yourself you imagined it.

You don’t have to check. The lack of blood in your mouth speaks volumes.

It’s almost funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, i got hit by an unexpected wave of writer's block. [ i did draw a little """""cover""""" for this au, though!](http://truereset.tumblr.com/post/151043061663/i-drew-something-for-antebellum-bc-it-is-still-my) i'm sure some people are wondering what chara's jacket even looks like ;p


	4. FRISK: You could make this place beautiful.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the library you used to visit before you ran away, the Librarby is almost never quiet. Not completely, anyway. It’s still hard to reconcile that with your memories of harsh white silence; a librarian’s glare every time you forgot yourself and tapped your fingers against a table that was never far enough away from everybody else. It’d been the one place Outside you were allowed to visit; the one place where, even if ASL lessons were only held once a week, you were able to be yourself.
> 
> Monster Kid makes a noise of satisfaction that has you looking over at them. They lean back in their chair, pulling their nose out of their own book.

Unlike the library you used to visit before you ran away, the Librarby is almost never quiet. Not completely, anyway. The sounds of monsters walking through the aisles, soft jazz music playing over the speakers, and people whispering and laughing quietly to each other -- it’s still hard to reconcile that with your memories of harsh white silence; a librarian’s glare every time you forgot yourself and tapped your fingers against a table that was never far enough away from everybody else. It’d been the one place Outside you were allowed to visit; the one place where, even if ASL lessons were only held once a week, you were able to be yourself.

Monster Kid makes a noise of satisfaction that has you looking over at them. They lean back in their chair, pulling their nose out of their own book.

“Finally,” they say, “I thought that chapter would go on _forever_!”

_But you finished it,_ you say, setting your book down. _Good job, MK. I’m not even half done with mine._ You give your reading assignment a glare. The cat on the cover smiles cheerfully back.

“Yo, maybe you should take a break,” MK says. “That always helps me when I get frustrated, y’know?”

_Thanks, but I just want to get this over with._ You pick the book back up with one hand, looking over the page you left off despairingly before turning back to your friend. _That way we can just hang out without me having to worry about it._

“That makes sense. Just don’t burn yourself out, okay?”

Giving them a grateful smile, you turn back to your book for hopefully the last time. It’s always been and still is slow going; reading was never your strong suit, spelling even less so, but you know that practice is your only real hope of getting better. You’d met MK when both of you came here looking for books to read, and it hadn’t taken long for you to realize that studying went by a lot faster with friends. You’d like to think you’re starting to improve.

(It’d been a relief, almost, to be as good as you were at magic when you started. You’ve never been one to be better than anyone at anything, and even though it was petty, and selfish, being better than Chara at this one thing had felt _good._

When they’d come to class saying they were ready to start learning support magic, it was almost scary, how good they got so fast. If you hadn’t seen it for yourself, you never would’ve guessed they’d had any trouble with magic in the first place. They’ve already climbed up to four MP while your progress has slowed to a crawl, and you’re _happy_ for them, but--

You wonder what it says about you, that your soul is so tuned to violence. If magic is a reflection of the soul, and all you can make is old baseball bats and fire and chains, then maybe you really are a bad person; maybe all the time you spent pushing past every ugly thought and violent urge never mattered -- every person who ever said you were broken and wrong were right about you. Maybe you’re doomed to slip up one day and hurt the people you love. Maybe...

It’s hard, when you see how easy it is for them to make flowers bloom and glow, to not be jealous, too.

If you can just improve at _something..._ )

A squeak cut off by a muted crash almost has you dropping the book onto the table, and you look over to find that MK and their chair have fallen onto the floor.

“My bad, dude,” they say, face red as you help them back to their feet. “My mom keeps telling me not to lean back in my chairs. Guess I should listen to her, huh?”

_Maybe,_ you allow. They don’t seem injured, though, and one glance around the aisles lets you know that the Librarby is mostly empty. No one else seems to have been around to notice. You don’t blame MK for messing around; it has to be boring, sitting here doing nothing while they wait for you to finish... Setting their overturned chair back on its feet, you spare your book one last, frustrated glance.

_Wait,_ you say, before MK can sit back down. _Actually, I think I do want to take that break after all._

“Yo, really?” they say, though they don’t wait very long for an answer; they’re quick to nose their book into the pack strapped to their side. “I was thinking, since it’s such a nice day out today we could play like, catch or hide and seek or something? And I know this cool place to get ice cream after!”

MK continues to chatter excitedly, and you nod along as you tuck your own book away, waving goodbye to the receptionist on the way out. The light as you step outside is blinding, and you have to stop for a moment to regain your bearings, but soon enough you’re running after your friend with the book being the last thing on your mind.

///

“Frisk!” someone says, and you can’t help but squeak as a pair of hands lift you into the air. You’re brought face-to-screen with a blinking red exclamation mark, and you’re suddenly glad that you managed to stop yourself from kicking in time; Mettaton may be sturdy, but you don’t want to find out _how_ sturdy on your own.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he says. “Are you here to play with your friends?”

You nod, peering around him through the doorway of the castle as subtly as you can. _What about you?_

“Oh, well, I was just hoping to gain our benevolent rulers’ approval on a little project of mine.” He sets you down finally, patting your head. “But for _some_ reason they don’t seem to think that opening a hotel for humans _and_ monsters is a good idea. Hmph!”

The only look you can give him is an inquisitive one. _Do you really think it would work?_

“But of course!” He raises his hands into the air, a sweeping grandness imbued into every molecule of the gesture. “With someone like me running the show, everyone will be too busy enjoying themselves to get into any sort of messy situation. It would be a plus on all sides.” He fiddles with a dial on his control hub. Absolutely nothing changes. “Especially for my ratings...”

That doesn’t sound bad to you. _Well, if they ever come around, you should let me know!_

“Frisk... Frisk Frisky Frisk.” His hands spindle out to settle on your shoulders. You resist the urge to be vaguely uncomfortable. “If my dream ever comes into reality, you will be the very _first_ human to take residence in MTT Resort!”

A grin settling over your face, you rock a little on your heels. _Thank you!_

“Don’t mention it, darling. Now run along. I’m sure your friends are waiting.” He gestures back to the house, and with one last wave in his direction, you skip past him and through the doorway.

It’s warm inside. It’s always warm; warm like the house wants you there, or at least wants you to stay, and you idle for a moment in the foyer to just breathe it in. It’s nice, you think. If the skeletons hadn’t become so much more than a family to you already, you’re not sure you’d ever want to leave. 

You open the door to Chara and Asriel’s room to find a complete and total _mess._

“Howdy, Frisk!” Asriel says, beaming at you from where he’s pulling the sheets off his bed. Baffled, you watch as he dumps them onto a pile on the floor. “We’re building a blanket fort.”

_Are you sure?_

“Excuse me,” Chara says, peeking around their bedframe in order to narrow their eyes at you more fully. “Don’t diss the blanket fort, Frisk. It might not look like much now, but everyone knows the key to a good structure is a good foundation.” The smile that stretches their cheeks defines the word _unsettling_. “But to do that, you have to _destroy it_ first.”

You’re just...not going to question it. It’s not like you know how to make blanket forts, anyway. _Do you need any help?_

“We’re going to in a minute,” Asriel says. “Actually, if you could take the chairs from the desk and put them here, and here--” he points to a couple places on different ends of the room, both smack in the middle between the beds, “that would help a lot.”

With a salute, you drop your bag and get to work.

The fort is finished just in time for Toriel to call you all out for dinner, and you share a high five on the way. The two Boss Monsters are still in their robes, but they seem untroubled, and Chara is the one to point it out as you sit down.

“A few friends stopped by to chat is all,” Asgore says, tugging on the collar of his regalia almost self-consciously. “We didn’t realize how much time had passed until it was too late to change and be on time for dinner.”

That seems to satisfy them, and it’s not long before you’re all too busy stuffing your faces to do much more interrogating. Asriel says everyone measured their heights at school for a project and he’s grown an inch from the last time. Chara immediately calls him twelve different versions of “shortstack” that you didn’t even know existed as their parents try not to laugh. You stuff some bread up your sleeve when no one is looking. 

By the time dinner is over and you’ve all changed into your pajamas, you’re more than ready to put the “sleep” into “sleepover”, but Asriel takes you by the hand and leads you inside the finished fort before you can so much as grab an extra pillow. You know when Chara crawls in after you that there’s no way you’re sleeping anytime soon.

“So,” Chara starts. They pull the blanket down over the entrance, turning the light soft and muted, and you can almost feel a headache you’d barely noticed begin to dissipate. Chara turns back to you with an expression that could only be described as solemn. “...It has come to this.”

Asriel snorts. “Unfortunately.”

“Shut up.”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Asriel says, rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out at Chara when they throw a pillow at him, “we didn’t call you over for a sleepover just because we like your company. I mean-- we do! I’m not trying to say we don’t, it’s just-” 

“I think they get it, Asriel,” Chara says, taking their turn to roll their eyes.

_It’s OK,_ you reply. _I was kind of wondering if you wanted to talk about something._

“Yeah. And it’s... kind of overdue,” Asriel says. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment before looking to his sibling. “Chara?”

“Of course.” They fold their hands in their lap for a moment, before apparently giving up and placing one on the back of their neck. “Asriel is right. We probably should’ve said something sooner, but uh, I wanted to see if I could find any more information first. I didn’t want to overreact because of a misunderstanding, or something taken out of context, y’know?” They shake their head, as if shaking off bad thoughts. You try to settle the uneasiness in your gut. “I haven’t found anything, but... Even still, Asriel and I thought it was something you deserved to know.”

_You’re making me nervous,_ you say, trying for a small smile and probably failing. Chara gives you a much more successful one back.

“You’ll understand in a minute,” they say.

“My teacher is part of a council that helps Mom and Dad delegate important stuff to do with Ebott,” Asriel says. He fidgets with his claws, brows furrowed. “They, um, usually don’t talk about it much. I think probably because I’m in the class. Anyway, usually the council only bothers with things like education programs, and new residential zones, but Dad told me a while ago that they step in on other stuff sometimes, too.”

_I’m gonna guess that this is one of those times,_ you say.

“Uh! Basically! Yeah!!” 

“A few months ago, Asriel overheard this council member speaking to someone else when they thought they were alone,” Chara steps in. They’re looking down at the floor, in the middle of the triangle the three of you create. “They said something to the effect of us only having been permitted to learn magic because we might be useful to them in the war.”

“Oh,” you say.

“I don’t think Toriel’s intentions are in that vein, at least,” Chara continues, looking at you now. “I’ve asked her vague questions relating to her feelings about us learning magic and she seemed genuinely supportive of us pursuing our own interests. But that was all I was able to find. No papers, letters-- nothing.”

“I even asked Mom _and_ Dad if I could shadow them during the next meeting,” Asriel says. “Even when I brought up me taking the throne when I get older, they said I was still too young.” He fists his fingers into the fur under his ears, frustration deepening the lines under his eyes. “I just don’t understand! Does everyone _really_ think there’s no other way for things to end up than a war?”

“Do _you?_ ” Chara counters. “I know fighting is the last thing monsters want, but I’ve told you before, Asriel: there used to be rallies in the _streets_ protesting the lack of official borders between our towns. If humans would ransack and destroy the homes of their own species just because they disagreed with them, why would they listen to the rulers of the very race they hate?” Their words are sharp, clipped in the exact way daggers aren’t, and Asriel hunches further into himself as if trying to protect himself from the sting. The tension that had drawn Chara’s posture ramrod straight seems to snap, at that. They look away, and for a long moment, no one says anything else.

You take a breath. Release.

_They won’t listen to monsters,_ you start. _But maybe they’ll listen to someone else._

At the movement of your hands, Asriel and Chara both turn to give you their full attention, and you falter for a moment before forcing yourself to continue. _I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it would work. Like Chara said; sometimes people’s homes would get broken into if they said they didn’t want to go to war, and..._ You think, for a moment, of the coldness of Chara’s anger the last time, before forcibly pushing the thought to the side. _But now I’m not sure there’s really anything else._

_The humans won’t listen to the monsters because they’re scared of you. They think everything you do is just another ploy to take their souls. But if there were humans that could really, truly vouch for you, and speak on you behalf..._

“You’re...talking about becoming ambassadors,” Asriel says.

_Well. Yes._ You shrug, looking off to the side. _I don’t know if it would work, or if it’s even a good idea, but..._

“I highly doubt they’d listen to _children,_ Frisk,” Chara says. Their voice is shaking, just slightly enough to notice, be it from anger or something else. You can’t read them well enough to tell.

_Not everyone wants to fight. I’ve seen it._ You fight the tremble in your own fingers, watching the empty space between your friends. _With Toriel and Asgore behind us, and some help, maybe we could find a way to make it work._

“And if we fail?” Chara says, their tone stopping just short of a bite. “We’d probably just make things worse.”

_Other people are already including us in the war without asking us,_ you point out, forcing yourself to meet their gaze. _We might as well take it into our own hands, right? We might as well try_.

That, finally, seems to stop them short. Their shoulders droop, and they glance from Asriel to you to Asriel again before dropping their eyes to the striped blanket under their legs. You want to reach out to them, tell them you’re sorry, tell them that they didn’t have to do this if they didn’t want to -- except the both of you standing with the monsters would do far more good than just a brown nonverbal kid who couldn’t look anybody in the eye, and they know it too. They know it’s the sort of last-ditch effort that has a chance to actually work.

They know it’s either both of you who do this, or neither.

“I-- I’m sorry,” they say. “I’ll give you an answer soon, but. I need time. To think.”

You nod, and relief loosens the tension in your spine. That wasn’t a no. An “I’ll think about it” is better than no, in the end. 

_To be honest, I don’t really want to do this either,_ you admit. _I just think... if things don’t get better soon, we won’t really have a choice, if we don’t want to have the choices made for us._

“Geeze,” Asriel says. “I’m sorry, guys. I wish you didn’t have to deal with this.”

“You’re one to talk,” Chara snorts, but it’s half-hearted. “You’re the one who’s going to be king someday.”

“Well, _duh,_ ” he says. “That’s why I know thinking about this stuff isn’t easy.” He throws a pillow at them -- the same pillow they’d sent flying at him earlier, you realize -- but the expression on his face is one of genuine concern. You smile a little, despite yourself.

_I know one thing,_ you say. _I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for a while after all this._

“God, same,” Chara agrees. 

“Do you want to play a game?” Asriel asks. “Truth or dare, or never have I ever? I think those are supposed to be sleepover games.”

“Asriel,” Chara says, pinching the bridge of their nose. “Knowing us, either of those would end in absolute _disaster._ ” They pause for a moment, until they look up at you both with a grin on their face. It’s a little strained, you think, but not in the way you’re afraid of. “ _Let’s do it.”_

_Nevermind,_ you say. _I changed my mind. I think I’ll be able to sleep now._

You let the pillow Chara throws at you knock you onto your back. You notice, for the first time, that the blankets they chose for the roof of the fort are decorated with stars; a faux night sky closing you in. It’s surprising, almost, that in this instance there’s no familiar claustrophobia choking up your lungs. It’s not so bad like this, you think.

You can make this work, you think.

You’ll make this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for how long this took to finish! i already have the next one planned. it's a little different, so hopefully it'll make up for the wait :)c

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to all the people who helped me with the EMPATHY acronym, asmilemingledwithwrath and Eristastic especially; even if i didn't end up using some suggestions, brainstorming is always a huge help ! ouob


End file.
